Questions
by dragonbaby
Summary: Narrated by Hermione. Yes, I'm H/H. Get over it. Hermione ponders stuff, mostly how she's fallen in love with Harry.


A/N: Yes, I wrote H/H! I am an H/H shipper, and I finally managed to do something other than L/J. I'm so proud. Well, this is written in present-tense form, which normally I find annoying, but it seemed to fit this particular fic. Hermione's one of my favorite characters, and I like writing from her POV. Please review! It's the most serious thing I've ever written and my poor self-esteem is a wreck wondering if it's any good or not…

So I'm in love with him.

I wonder if anyone could see this coming? Not me, certainly. And not _him._ Not Ron. Actually, I think _he_ may be having some sort of romantic feelings for me, so especially not Ron. Not anyone else, for whom in this school, besides Harry and Ron, am I close enough to let them guess my secrets? 

Yes, I, Hermione Granger, opinionated bookworm, unpopular student but well known by default for being friends the very boy I have fallen in love with, am in a rather difficult situation. 

I can't tell him, naturally. He's got enough on his mind, without deciding whether or not he feels the same. In a way, deep down, I'm glad I have a reason not to. If I had no excuse, no reason I could use to convince myself that I don't need to tell him, I'm scared of what could happen. 

Now, there are several things I must think about.

Question one: _When did I fall in love with him?_

The moment I first saw him? Halloween of our first year? Our second year, when I heard the story of what he had done to stop the basilisk? Our third year, when he saved me from the Dementors? During the Triwizard Tournament, when I was holding my breath, just hoping and praying that he would come out unhurt? This very moment?

Question two: _When did I realize I love him?_

This is different from question one, in that I think I have loved him for a very long time without actually knowing it. Or perhaps I simply fell in love much like one falls off of the last step of a staircase when it's dark; not knowing it's going to happen, not expecting anything at all but smoothness, but shocked when the inevitable does happen.

Question Three: _Why is it, that whenever I think I have answers, they themselves are questions_?

For you can't have as many answers to a single question as I have without questioning them, especially when the answers are so contradictory. 

I could try to talk myself out of this. Part of me even wants to, that part that annoys everyone including me, that part that never breaks rules, and never does anything wrong, or shocking, or unexpected. But the other part, this part I barely ever let show, the part that, all things considered, is probably right most of the time, the part that would let herself fall in love with her best friend, that part would never even consider it. 

I think I like that part of myself better. I'm just slightly afraid of her, and what she would do if I let her out. 

If I told Harry how I feel, how would he react? 

This brings me back to not being able to tell him.

First of all, I'm scared he would ridicule me, laugh, tease me. No, Harry wouldn't do that. But I _can _picture his brilliant green eyes cloud up in disbelief, him stumbling over some excuse to get away. And my excuse, I can't tell him because he's got enough on his mind. Voldemort is after him. He doesn't need the worries that come with having a girlfriend. 

Actually, I think that if we became any closer and I lost him I couldn't bear it.

I am staring intently at him at this very moment, and do not even realize it until he looks up and asks me if something is wrong.

"No," I tell him. "Nothing." Then I make some stupid comment on how he should be doing his Transfiguration essay instead of mapping out some diagram of a Quidditch field. 

He laughs, looks up, and for a moment our eyes are _locked_, and it wouldn't be possible to concentrate on anything else if I tried. So I don't try. 

He shakes his head; the invisible bond is broken. "What would I do without you here to nag me, Herm?" he jokes. 

I can't think of a reply. I want to reply, to make him laugh, take a little of the stress off his mind. But I can't, so I do the next best thing. I mumble some excuse and run up to my dormitory. It's empty. Good. I throw myself onto my bed to reflect upon what just happened.

He called me Herm.

I must be going insane, to react like this over such a monosyllable. After all, it's just a nickname. People call other people by nicknames all the time.

But nicknames are a sign of affection. And no one's ever called me that before. 

The door opens, and Parvati wanders in. I must look very odd, lying here face down, laughing weakly. "Are-" she begins, then seems to thing better of it. She grabs something out of her trunk and leaves.

And to think Harry asked _her_ to the Yule Ball last year. As if that apathetic fool could ever feel anything for him. I can forgive Harry. After all, I did go with Krum. We lost touch over the summer, though, which I'm glad of. He'd noticed that I talked about Harry a lot. Of course I did…

I roll over on my back and stare at the ceiling.

Viktor, you're a great person, but you just aren't right for me. Not as long as there's a Harry Potter in this world. 

Which brings me back to the point that due to recent circumstances, there might not always be one. 

Suddenly I decide something. If something happened to Harry, or to me, wouldn't I at least have wanted him to know? To at least tell him those word once, even if he doesn't respond likewise, even if he doesn't think of me as anything more than a somewhat annoying girl he owes friendship to just because she's saved his life a few times? 

So here I am, not ten minutes after running frantically upstairs, going back down them, shaking slightly. 

And I see him, still sitting alone, still mapping out those infernal Quidditch diagrams. 

And so I walk over to him, sit down, and begin to speak.

A/N: Wow! Two fics uploaded in one day! Well, actually a fic and a list I wrote to get over my ten minute long case of writer's black. All HP people belong to J.K. Rowling, I own the story. And I _still_ hate disclaimers. An no, there will NOT be a sequel. 


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